


Target Practice

by Impalababycakes



Series: Destiel Mini Fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little smutty, Castiel is becoming more human, Dean Winchester - Freeform, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Shooting, Supernatural Coda, Supernatural Season 15, castiel - Freeform, dom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 23:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impalababycakes/pseuds/Impalababycakes
Summary: Season 15 Coda. Dean takes Castiel down into the firing range.





	Target Practice

Dean shuffles his feet around, knocking his toes into the concrete and wincing once or twice.

Castiel surmised that the hunter wouldn't notice an extra pair of feet also scraping across the floor as he tries to be discrete.

When Castiel walked in, he doesn't let his presence be known yet, he watches, though from this angle he's mostly watching Dean's shoulders move under his loose-fitting shirt and his muscles sink into the burgundy red then the Winchester pulls back and they pop out.

Dean's changing out the magazine as he forcefully jams the new one inside the slot, pulling downward to ensure it's fully seated. He clasps his non-firing hand at the top slide, grasping, and pulling back sharply until he releases and...

***click**. The slide snaps forward. Dean lets out a sigh, laying the loaded gun in-front of him on the concrete counter.

"What is this?" Finally, the angel speaks, starting with a question.

"Target practice, something you and your angel warrior buddies would know _nothing_ about." Dean doesn't turn around, he's teasing with a slight tint of annoyance in his tone, staring down at his own reflection in the shiny hand gun.

And soon there were two faces as Castiel begins to step closer, until his chest is pressed into the hunter's arm.

Dean doesn't flinch, understanding the angel wanted to get a closer look.

"That's why I brought you down here—"

"You didn't." Castiel interrupts.

"I knew you'd follow me."

Of course Dean knew, most of the time Castiel walked around the bunker aimlessly, feeling like he lacked purpose, he's always lost and confused, searching. It was written all over his face—_all of the time._

The Castiel who once felt like he could be easily looked over in a crowd, using that to his advantage to tuck under the radar, the angel who could cloak himself around anyone and listen into juicy little tidbits of conversation suddenly felt... exposed.

"I did follow you." Castiel confirms, feeling a hot tingling sensation behind his ears and then his cheeks are flushing pink.

The vessel blushes, sapphire peering over the gun, and soon Dean's reflection to gaze indirectly into his eyes.

Dean's eyes narrow in the reflection and then the gaze is ripped away

as he takes the gun off the concrete counter and points it at the target.

"End of the world, Cas."

"Quite possibly, yes." Castiel meets Dean halfway with that reply, not agreeing or disagreeing, instead he's hanging on to that edge of hope that the world he loves so dearly could still be saved.

Castiel steps to the side, seeing Dean's gaze fixed on the target, as if it's his soul purpose in life to get a bullseye.

There's many faces Dean could imagine that target having, sadly including himself from all the blame he let fall on his shoulders and the harboring guilt.

For a moment his face saddens, he relaxes those same shoulders, forgetting Castiel was there, he could let himself feel for a second or as long as it takes to steady his hand.

"Dean—"_ ***Bang**_. Castiel is taken aback from the gunshot that bounces off the concrete walls, creating a ringing echo.

Then a clang from an empty shell dropping...

The angel blinks, though they normally never do, he's startled is all.

Dean lets down his arm, gaze falling to Castiel's shoes and back to his own boots, he realizes how far Castiel was from him.

Now Dean's looking _directly_ at the angel, adding an insouciant shrug.

Dean has been used to the sound of a gunshot since he was 4 years old, at age 40 it was a song he knew all the words to and could sing along, his foot taps with the sound of every bullet being impaled into flesh, every heart he stops with his gun.

Dean couldn't imagine what it was like feel off beat from such a familiar sound.

The angel who's slowly cowering into his corner huffs. He used to have angel radio compete, drowning out every man-made noise, but heaven's closed for business and the angels that could reach out didn't have enough strength.

This resulted in every noise except the the sound of voices triggering an unwitting reflex.

All Castiel heard was ringing, the sound was like what Dean heard all those years ago at a gas station in Pontiac Illinois, ringing, ear-splitting sounds that made his brain bleed, his ear drums felt like they had a beat of their own.

"All good?" Dean raises an eyebrow, widely curious what's become of the trembling angel, what he's thinking at that very second.

"Yes." Castiel's mouth is shut, breathing through the gaps in his teeth, so it sounded like he added an 'h' at the end. "No... The sound... It's ringing, my head feels it might explode." Castiel grits.

"Wow, _that's_ a visual." Dean almost laughs, instead he smiles, before adding a clever remark. "I don't know, have you heard _you_ talk?"

Castiel nods, facing away from the hunter, he's not offended, there was just a memory that surfaces and he averts his gaze to welcome in the memory instead of his current surroundings.

Dean's voice is growing faint, he's talking but it's drowning out, until it's down to a whisper, though the hunter was not whispering, he was yelling.

"Cas?"

Dean receives no response, only an angel who continues to stare out into the distance—_ Of what? There's nothing there!_ Dean thought.

"Cas!"

Still no response, not even a wave of acknowledgement, he felt invisible.

"CAS! EARTH TO CAS!"

Castiel blinks, Dean finally gets his attention back.

"Did you hear a word I said?!" Dean's showing signs of annoyance by being outspoken.

How Castiel acknowledged human emotions was different, he didn't have the advantage of an empath, so he payed attention to body language and change of tone, that determined everything. 

And as for Dean, his frustration is large and on display, nothing subtle here, almost as if he pasted a sticky note to

his forehead that read _I AM PISSED_ In bold sloppy letters. Something Dean would have definitely done if he carried sticky notes on his person...

Still, amid Dean's frustration Castiel smiles and doesn't acknowledge it just yet, he has to comment.

"You were so small, like an ant, very dirty, how you folded up like one of those lawn chairs, you made yourself even smaller, how did you do that?"

"How did I curl myself into a ball?" Dean's eye twitches.

"Yes." Castiel nods.

"Well if you ever tried to master the art of the self-suck, that's basically it."

"...Self-Su—"

"Stop while you're ahead." Dean interrupts, shaking a finger.

"Alright."

They both go silent, staring across the way at each other, not a foot tap, not a movement from either party. Somehow a cricket got into the bunker.

...

_ ***BANG** _

Dean shoots at the target in hopes of breaking the silence, it works, the angel yelps and jumps in his spot, back slamming into the concrete and his knees begin to knock.

"Jeeze, Cas." Dean finally shows concern towards the angel, he drops his gun on the counter and steps toward him, until his grip is on Castiel's shoulder blade. "Is it that bad?" Dean rubs the spot, trying to get the muscle to relax.

"It's very loud." Castiel replies, shakily, though he doesn't know why he'd admit that, there was little Dean could do, this was a personal problem.

That's what Castiel thought until Dean silenced his heavy breathing with his finger. The hunter twisted himself around and walked away, he's still in view, his back mostly, digging into a cardboard box.

Castiel doesn't question, instead he waits for the Winchester to return to him, and after Dean gives a glee filled "Ah-Hah!" He does.

"And as I was saying before you decided to tune me out with your angel radio." (Right...the angel radio... the non existent angel radio, it's nothing but static, but Castiel leaves Dean to believe he still hears it, he doesn't say anything to make the Winchester assume otherwise. )

"Rude." Dean pauses, then continues, "I brought you down here because I'm going to take the time out of my boring day to teach you how to fire one of these puppies—_properly_."

Castiel becomes confused, the trembling stops and he crosses his arms over his chest to steady his heartbeat, warming the spot. "But I don't need a gun, I have my angel blade."

"Oh, that's right. Where is it?" Dean snaps his fingers, coming to a realization thanks to the angel.

Castiel slides the blade out from his sleeve and Dean takes it from his hand and tosses it over the wall and out into the distance.

Castiel's eyes go wide, crinkling his nose and scoffing at the hunter from what he just did.

"It's the end of the world, the freaking God-brought apocalypse, you can have your sword fight some other time."

Castiel continues to glare, he's not happy about this, he's like a child who's losing his favorite blanket or teddybear he uses every night to sleep before bed, he didn't want to try something new when his way has been proven effective for billions of years.

"You're surviving this one, Cas. You hearin' me?"

"I'm hearing you." Castiel affirms.

"You died last time at the hand of your own blade, it's like carrying around a bomb, only thing that can kill you and you carry it around like a freaking hand bag! Guns can't hurt you, they're effective and you don't have to worry about getting killed by anything."

"You've really thought this through." Castiel points out.

"You— I can't lose you again. We've lost too much. I can't—_I wont_." Dean's forest-green gaze falls upon the angel, intense almost to the edge it becomes unsettling. "It's gonna take all three of us to stop this, to fight this."

"Dean, I know." Castiel grumbles.

"Good, you're a billions of years old angel, can't be getting shy around a little gunpowder." Dean muses.

Dean tugs on the sleeve of Castiel's trench coat to pull him off of the wall, the angel gasps out in surprise.

Dean gets behind him and sets the noise canceling earmuffs on his head, making sure they are covering his ears as he brushes his hair back to wiggle them into alignment.

"This should help with the noise." Dean softly speaks into the angel's ear before he covers it up and lets go of the headset.

It's strange to see Dean being careful and speaking in hushed tones, Castiel can't tell if this is another form of sarcasm, is Dean making fun of him?...

"You're making fun of me." Castiel pouts.

"No," Dean's still whispering, or it sounds like a whisper with the headset, either way, it's hard for him to be heard. "I'm taking care of you Sweetheart, you can use these until you adjust, whatever you gotta do to get comfortable, I just need you focused."

Castiel had to have just mistaken a word there, Dean didn't say that, Dean would never use a pet name for him.

Although 'Sunshine' was pet like, Well—more endearing, and it can easily be platonic, like the song sung between a mother and daughter about greys and taking sunshines aways... But... _Sweetheart_?

What is platonic about a fully grown man calling another man ‘_SWEETHEART’_?

"'_Sweetheart_'?" Castiel had to question it, he _had_ to. Did that really come out of _Dean's_ mouth?

Dean hums, lightly shoving Castiel into the concrete counter, he almost stumbles but catches himself.

"Pick up the gun, safety's off so be careful."

Castiel does, his hand is shaking and then it's his whole body, he's nervous.

Dean steps to where he's behind the angel again, taking hold of the end of his trench coat and rolling up his sleeve, finishing the first and moving on to the second.

Castiel's tongue gets caught in his throat, he suddenly can't speak, so he listens instead.

Dean touching him_ at all_ was a surprise but Dean's touching his bare skin was even more shocking.

"Point the gun straight, best you can, aim for the target." Dean instructs.

Castiel holds out his arm, trying to center his aim on the target.

"Okay, now back up towards me—"

Castiel backs up a little too fast and bumps his backside into Dean's crotch, a faint cry can be heard behind him and that whimper told him he did something wrong...

"Mhm..." Dean winces, biting his lip. " L-Leave just enough space, few inches, this ain't a tailgate party." Dean gives Castiel a crooked smile, trying not to reprimand the angel for a small accident.

...

Soon the hunter and the angel are standing in-front of the waist high concrete wall, with concrete partitions on both sides that separate the lanes, even though they were the only ones there.

But nothing separates these two.

Dean shamelessly itching closer, until those few inches he talked about became a pair of hips colliding.

Dean slides his touch down the angel's arm, feeling goosebumps raise on his forearm, then Dean takes Castiel's other arm that dangles at his side and makes the angel steady the gun with both hands.

Castiel squeezes the handle with both and his grip tightens on the gun every time Dean touches him, sliding his hands up and down his arms like a message, but Dean's just feeling how tense Castiel is, every curve, every muscle.

"Can't hold a gun like that, finger has to be over the trigger."

Castiel rests his index on the trigger as instructed, knowing as long as he follows the Winchester's easy step guide, he'll ace this lesson. Dean's patient and thorough with him, a good teacher.

"How is this?" Castiel looks back, suddenly panicked.

Dean hums, hooking his chin into Castiel's shoulder for a better viewpoint. "Good, good. But eyes stay on the target."

Castiel averts his eyes back to where he's looking straight ahead at the far end of the lane. There's a paper target with a crude outline of a upper torso and head.

"Steady your—everything." Dean gave up on specifications with that one.

Castiel is sure he could manage all but one, his heart is racing in his chest, partly from nervousness, and partly because Dean's chest is warm against his back, his hands are on his arms and he's breathing hot words down his neck, the pressure is overwhelming.

"That's it, Cas, just like that." Dean coaxes.

Castiel couldn't stop thinking about Dean being this close, the nearness of the Winchester became offsetting.

Castiel had to rip his mind away from here, the Winchester had nothing but the 'purest' intentions, and though he was breathing down his neck like a hungry wolf, Castiel can't be acknowledging that any longer.

What Castiel allows himself to acknowledge is something much worse to take away from his concentration as his thoughts set him adrift again. 

Dean's incredibly well muscled torso practically molded itself into his frame. It's intoxicating, for lack of a fancier word, but it was decidedly not conducive to draw attention to the target.

"You're bending your elbows, straighten them out."

Dean indoctrinating is the _only_ thing that keeps Castiel from going too far into his own head, he's keeping him on his toes. Castiel nods and smiles appreciatively.

Castiel straightens out his arms, then watches the Winchester's movements attentively, he's running his touch up his arm to demonstrate how to properly hold the gun, Dean makes Castiel cup his left hand under his right so his wrists are no longer shaking.

"Good." Dean praises the angel.

As Dean continues to further his instructions, he takes note of the accelerated breathing and excessive perspiration of Castiel, he understands the angel must be nervous, it's Dean's own interpretations on _why_ that's off by a mile.

Dean takes his hands off of Castiel, allowing the angel to have a chance to steady himself, but human touch is a powerful thing, and without it Castiel lost focus.

"Y-You were doing good, what happened?" Dean groans, thinking his hard work of being bossy went to waste, giving orders was _exhausting_.

Castiel didn't know what to say, what he _should have_ said and what he _did_ say ends up being very different... But... Castiel missed Dean already, he couldn't help the way it came out.

"Let me feel you." Then he repeats it to heighten his desperation, "Let me feel you, please."

Dean listens, not commenting on how the angel happened to word things, instead he rolls his shoulders forward a bit.

He brings even more of his body into contact with Castiel's, he also rests his chin on the angel's spine, lips almost pressing into the nape of his neck.

His hands travel back to Castiel's soft wrists. It's as if Dean's body got on the plane to travel back home but it left something behind, something was forgotten or went unnoticed, so he had to go back to that same spot to find it, and this time he does.

Dean sees the angel's cheeks turn a light shade of pink, Castiel breathes hot against nothing but air, eyelids fluttering slightly over the printed target.

The thing Dean missed was the angel's dancing vital signs, he's left to wonder if there's arousal that connects to it, but all he can do is assume there's at least a little, still he chose to ignore it.

"I'm gonna count down from three, give you a run over on the steps as we go. You listening?"

"I am." Castiel breathes out and in, shakily. 

"Straighten your arms." Dean uses his thumbs to rub the center of Castiel's folds out straight.

Castiel's arms are finally straighten out, and with Dean's hands there, they'll remain that way.

Dean's voice drops down the scale until he's referring to parts of the gun as not so age-appropriate innuendos, was it intentional? That can't be certain.

...

"Rest you finger on the trigger, don't press in yet." Dean instructs, voice gravelly against the angel's neck. "I'll tell you when to press in." That's more of an order this time. "Rub the barrel with your left, get a feel for it."

Castiel rests his finger lightly against the trigger, not pressing and awkwardly rubs the gun. _Please tell me you're not being serious, that was stupid._ Castiel thought.

"Steady your body, lean into me for balance if you need to. I got you, go on, back up onto me."

Castiel angles his hips to where he's pressing into Dean, not even sure if there's one person in here or two at this point, they made up a single space, not two anymore.

"You're doing amazing, Cas." Dean praises, lifting his hand off Castiel's wrist to brush a curl behind his ear.

He slides his hand back into place, right around Castiel's arm where it should be to help him balance.

"C-Can I?" Castiel manages to ask half the question, voice only cracking a little on the first word, he felt he might faint, he's definitely becoming light-headed.

"Not yet, few more things."

Castiel nods, sighing.

"Stare down the gun, take aim at the target, and spread your legs."

Castiel does, following Dean's instructions accordantly, he looks down the barrel that reflects his icy blue gaze, parting his thighs enough to where his legs parallel Dean's bowlegs.

"Get ready, you're gonna press in...three..."

_Wait!_ Castiel's blue gaze goes wide, eyes remaining on the target and nothing else, but he abruptly pivots his hips forwards, jerking them both, then steadies himself back into place.

"_Two_..." Dean leans fully into the angel, whispering into his neck, he's so close... so close he could...

Castiel gulps from the overstimulation and anticipation, melting into Dean's Chest, he handed himself over to the hunter soon as he walked through that door, soon as he followed him down that hallway, soon as he picked up that damn gun.

Castiel nods again, knowing he has to keep his eyes forward, he has to keep his hands on that gun, has to steady his heartbeat, and amidst all this,

Castiel does as instructed, leaning his weight against Dean, and the hunter took it willingly.

"_One_." Dean leans in, lips pressing into the nape of Castiel's neck and then...

_ ***BANG** _

goes the bullet, the empty shell makes a clinging noise once it drops to the ground, Castiel forgets to breathe, he forgot his thought midway through, but he hit the target, he sees the hole right in the center.

"Again," Dean purrs into the angel's skin, smiling softly, appreciating Castiel's efforts, such a well taught angel listening to his every step.

_ ***BANG** _

Dean doesn't even have to look, he knows the angel is making the center every time, he takes his hand away and takes hold of Castiel's neck, gently driving him backwards as he continues to kiss the spot.

"You're a natural," Dean manages to say between the kisses he gives.

"Now try a blind shot, look up, shoot."

Castiel tilts his head up and shoots, _***BANG**_, then he falls back, his head staying propped up by Dean's collarbone.

"Tired already?" Dean takes off Castiel's headset, hanging it on his wrist as he fixes the angel's curls. "Need you to empty that magazine, come on, few more shots to go."

"This is exhausting." Castiel concludes.

"Well _maybe_ if you got your mind off me and back on that target you wouldn't be so exhausted." Dean groans.

"You are a much better target." Castiel gives a weak smile.

"Cas, please don't shoot me, not all of us can play musical bodies, and I like this one, he's hot."

Castiel deliriously presses his hands into Dean's face, grumbling.

"But I'm proud of you, you're still at level one, but next is level two, that's a shot gun, level three is a machine gun, and level four is the final boss, the grenade launcher."

"Dean I don't think that's the best weapon to fire inside the bunker."

"Well rule is I'm only supposed to sleep with one gun, but jokes on Sam because I sleep with _three_."

"...What?"

"Moral of the story; I break the rules and pretty angels get to use the grenade launcher."

Castiel straightens himself out and steps over to where the waist high wall is, taking aim and... _***BANG**_

"Let's waste this son of a bitch." Castiel grins.

Dean sinks into the wall, falling to the floor and places a hand over his chest.

"E-Easy there, Cowboy, we got all day. You dorky little badass angel." 


End file.
